Two Birds on a Wire
by carroussella
Summary: One says I'll believe it all, there's nothing I won't understand; the other says I'll believe it all, I won't let go of your hand. Collection of McCollins drabbles/one-shots. Episodic spoilers may apply. ACCEPTING PROMPTS.
1. Chapter 1

**Fandom:** Rookie Blue  
**Pairing:** Nick/Andy  
**Category:** Romance  
**Rating:** K+

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Rookie Blue or its characters. Unfortunately.

**Synopsis: **Possible spoilers for all aired Rookie Blue episodes.

**Author's Note:** I wanted to do up a drabble series that may or may not be canon or episodic and just let my McCollins shipper imagination run wild. I do not have enough prompts to keep this series going, so would appreciate any and all prompts that come my way. PLEASE DO NOT PUT THEM IN THE REVIEW. Send them to me either via email, or PM or even through Tumblr.

* * *

_**Prompt: The one where a buddy commits suicide, part one. For technicolorkisses on Tumblr **  
_

. . . . ._ . ._

She finds him, alone, sitting at The Black Penny with dozens of empty beer glasses in front of him. Exchanging a look with Joe, the bartender, she sidles up next to him.

"It's not September," she chastises gently. "What's your excuse?"

Nick looks at her, his eyes already sporting that slightly gazed look that makes her wonder if he comprehends anything she's just said.

"Andy!" He gives her that trademark goofy grin that she both loves and loathes; she loves how it makes his eyes light up and his face shine, yet it's the same cheeky grin he gives her when he's teasing her or has done something to annoy her and is trying to beg her forgiveness.

"Yes, Nick, it's Andy." Gently, she stops him from taking another swig of the next glass. "I think that's quite enough for the night, don't you agree?"

He shrugs her hand away, and in the process, beer splashes out of the mug. "I haven't finished."

"Yes, you have," she tells him firmly, taking the mug out of his hands and signaling to the bartender for some towels to clean up the spill.

Nick simply stares at her for a moment. "You have to let me, I'm not done yet." His voice is harsh, almost unforgiving, and Andy is taken aback at his tone.

"Nick, what's wrong?" she asks gently, sensing that there is more to this impromptu drinking session that just letting off post-shift stress.

"I don't want to talk about it," he tells her point-blank, his attention already shifting away from her to the numerous bottles lined up behind the bar. He studies them as if they were the most interesting things on earth, a pointed gesture telling Andy that he wanted to be alone.

"You can stare at those bottles all night long, Nick Collins," she tells him. "You know I'm not going anywhere til you tell me what's going on."

Nick sighs, and it's a long drawn out sound that infuses both annoyance and resignation into the air. "If I tell you, will you go away and let me be alone?"

"Maybe," Andy flashes him a grin, preparing to make herself comfortable on the bar stool.

Letting out another long sigh, Nick buries his face in his hands. "Jack called," he mumbles.

"What?" Andy leans forward, straining to hear his muffled reply. "Your commanding officer?"

"Yes, that Jack."

"What did he want?" Andy presses, sensing that Nick would have just stopped there if he kept quiet. He wasn't exactly the most talkative drunk.

"Oh, nothing much you know," Nick drawls, talking through his fingers. "Just wanted to find out how I was and hey, by the way am I going to the funeral this weekend?"

Alarmed, Andy sat up straighter. "Funeral? What funeral?"

"Nobody important, just David, that son of a bitch." Nick slumps onto the bar, his face all but plastered to the table.

"David? As in, your buddy David?"

"Yes, Andy. That David," Nick groans. "That same asshole who was my wingman, my point guard and probably saved me a dozen times from enemy gunfire. That David. The same bastard who went and took a shotgun and blew up his face, and didn't bother to write me a goodbye note. _That _David."

"Oh Nick, I'm so sorry." Her hand on his back, Andy doesn't know how to offer adequate comfort. Nick doesn't like to talk about the army buddies that he's lost; he just drinks them into oblivion. She hasn't lost anyone close to her before, except her mother, but being dead and being abandoned were two entirely different things altogether.

Nick turns slowly to her. "Would you go to the funeral with me?"

Andy meets his gaze steadily. "Of course." Her words are somber, sympathetic, with a little tinge of pity, and Nick picks up on it.

He leans forward, enveloping Andy into his arms and burying his face in her shoulder. She senses the desperation, the need for comfort and hugs him tight. "I'd go anywhere with you, Collins," she tells him honestly.

She feels her shirt getting wet, but doesn't mind. She knows how close Nick was to David, and she knows that it must be killing him right now; the pain at losing at friend, the guilt of not being able to see the signs and the anger that David had given up.

Running her hands up and down his back, she holds him while he sobs soundlessly. She spies Chris and Dov at the far end, watching them curiously, but just gives a slight shake of her head. She knows Nick would not want anyone privy to his misery, and she's determined to protect whatever small semblance of privacy he has in the bar.

After a while, Nick lifts his head from her shoulder, aghast at the mess he's made. "I'm sorry, Andy."

A hand on his face, Andy caresses the stubble that has begun to grow. "Don't be sorry. Everything's going to be okay."

Nick nods, and she takes his hand. "Let's go home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Note:** Thanks for all the prompts coming my way! I love all of them, some of them are getting my muse all excited. Please keep sending them – they can be as specific or as vague as you want; you can send me a quote, or song lyric or a specific situation, anything really. Just a note though: I may not write them all in the sequence that I receive them, and what I write may not be what you had in mind when you gave me the prompt… I write as my muse flows so whatever comes to me will get written first.

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_**Prompt: Okay, so maybe he doesn't completely hate Halloween. For Tirsh. **_

_. . . . ._

He walks into yet another hanging fake spider and resists the urge to shudder. He doesn't understand what is so great about celebrating a festival dedicated to the undead, pumpkins and all things in a manner of orange and creepy.

Andy sees the horrified look on his face, and immediately bursts into laughter. "You aren't squeamish over a little insect, are you, Officer Collins?" she teases, her stomach already beginning to hurt from the effort she's expending.

"It's not funny, Andy," he scowls at her. "How can you live like this?"

"Live like what?" Andy fixes the fake teeth that are covered in fake blood and turns to scare him, only to nearly fall on the floor herself from the laughter that overcomes her when he literally jumps backwards in fright.

"Like this!" He gestures angrily, after he's sort of recovered from the shock. This is precisely why he hates Halloween; he doesn't think his heart can take the constant pressure of being confronted with ghouls and ghosts.

"You're such a wimp, you know that?" Andy tells him, a little annoyed that he's spoiling her fun. She loves Halloween, loves the dressing up in costumes and pretending to be someone – or something – else for the night. But right now Nick is putting a damper on her festive decorating and she doesn't want to start carving her pumpkin when he's in a foul mood and very likely to ridicule her effort.

"I'm not a wimp," Nick protests. "I just don't see the point in having a festival where all you do is dress up and get scared."

"That's just the point, Nick. It's for kicks. We don't get many opportunities to dress up, pretend to be something we're not and go out and have some fun. Lighten up, won't you?"

Nick mutters something under his breath, but then a thought strikes him. "You're not expecting me to dress up, are you?"

Andy gives him a horrified look, as if the idea of him _not_ getting in costume is akin to the end of the world. "Of course you have to!"

"Oh no. No, no, no," he tells her firmly.

"Well…" Andy drops the roll of cutout ghost figures she had been in the midst of unrolling and sashays over to him.

Nick takes a step backward and gives her a wary look, but Andy just keeps advancing. "If you don't get dressed up, I won't get dressed up either."

He breathes a sigh of relief, thankful that Andy is coming to her senses.

"But," she continues. "It means that you won't get to enjoy my costume after the party."

His curiosity is now piqued, so he can't do anything else but sigh. "Fine, you can pick out my costume."

. . . . .

"This party is awesome!" Chris yells at him over the volume of the music, and Nick thinks it's better if he kept quiet, because the shouting is adding to his headache.

Half of 15 is gathered in Andy's apartment, and every single one of them had adhered to the dress code. Chris is a Flintstone, Dov as some superhero that he's never heard of, Gail is the Ice Queen of Narnia (big surprise there), Traci is Cleopatra and Andy is… missing.

He looks around, wondering where on earth she is. He hasn't seen her since the first guest when she went to change, and he's thinking that she can't possibly be taking that long and missing her own party.

Heading to her bedroom, he knocks lightly. "Andy? Are you in there?" He tries the knob, but it's locked.

"One minute!" comes her muffled reply, followed by a yelp of some kind.

"Andy, are you okay?" He calls out again, wondering what sort of trouble she's getting herself into. Just as he contemplates kicking the door down, the lock clicks and Andy opens the door.

"Hi," she greets him. He furrows his brows. "Why are you in your robe?" He asks, feeling confused. "Please tell me that isn't your costume."

"It's not," she assures him, taking his hand and pulling him into the room and clicking the lock into place.

"Andy, what –" His sentence goes unfinished as he turns to Andy and sees her dropping the robe, revealing a tight leather cat suit.

"Meow."

A shiver excitement snakes up his spine as he moves towards her. "Catwoman," he breathes as his lips seek hers.

"Like it?" She asks between kisses.

"Love it," he tells her honestly. The black leather clings in all the right places and he's running his hands all over, feeling the smooth material under his hands as they dip with every curve of her body.

His lips move to her neck, and Andy jokingly tries to push him away. "Nick, we have guests outside," she protests.

"I'm not the one who locked the door," he points out, to which she can only nod.

"I did, but this is the first Halloween party I'm throwing in this apartment, so…" Andy trails off as his teeth reach her ear lobe and she lets out a moan as the sensations coursing through her body.

"So everyone else can just continue drinking all our beer and blasting that awful music, because you, Andy McNally, are not going anywhere. We're having our own private party in here," he tells her.

"I thought you didn't like Halloween parties," she moans again as his lips move away from her ear and down her neck.

"I don't," he tells her honestly. But as he peels the material off her, all he can think of is, okay, so maybe he doesn't completely hate Halloween after all.


End file.
